May Your Light Shine
by Kate Joff
Summary: A Young Man finds the courage to take his father's place as keeper of the Light.


May Your Light Shine 

The red sun set and silhouetted the buildings of a doomed city. Hard steel and cold glass glinted in the last scarlet gleams of sunlight. Not a soul stirred, the city was deathly quiet. No bustling city-sounds, no birds flew from spire to spire. No children played in side streets and alleyways. Only a few, far away stars shown in the darkening sky.

A lone stranger walked briskly down a wide avenue. a young man, dressed in a dark suit and swinging a briefcase at his side. He hurried through the maze of streets and stopped in front of a lone inn made of the wood of trees from an ancient forest. From it alone shown a pale yellow Light, playfully casting shadows on the empty street. A wreath of evergreens adorned the old fashioned wooden door and the strains of a forgotten tune floated through the air.

_Silent night, holy night_

_All is calm, all is bright._

The young stranger walked up to the door and knocked, the music stopped and an old man with a white beard peered through the frosty window pane. The next moment the door swung wide open, a joyous shout was heard.

"My son! My son has come home!"

"Father, they are coming for you. You must leave this very night! They will not spare you this time Father."

"Nonsense my son, I have nothing that they can take away that I will not regain one day."

"Father they will surely kill you this time!"

"My son, keep your Light always, do not let it fade, show it off for all to see, our Light is not meant to be hidden. I have shown my Light, if they come, let them come. I stand true."

"Father I am afraid!"

"Then go my son."

The young man races though the icy city streets. In fear, he runs blindly, turning this way and that. Suddenly someone shouts,

"Halt! Who goes there?"

"Peter Herald, Officer"

"Peter Herald, state your—Herald, do you have any relation to old inn keeper Herald up on Beacon Hill?"

"No Officer, I do not know him"

"Herald is not a common name" the officer says skeptically.

"I have never heard of him"

"Are you sure young man?" the officer prods.

"Yes sir, never in my life did I hear of such a man."

"Carry on."

The once joyous sounds of music are reduced to echoes and the once vibrant Light remains only in memory. The ancient wooden door stands ajar and in the old inn's parlor a book lies open on the floor, as if it's owner was flipping through it upon the moment of interruption. A table lies on it's side overturned, and the lamp is on the floor, spilling oil all over the braided rug. On the drain board two sets of dishes still sit dripping, a cat scratches at the pantry door waiting to be fed. The cat waits in vain, they will never come back. For in the City of Glass and Steel, they stood true. So the inn stands alone, with no keeper of the Light to make it's windows shine with a warm and joyful glow.

Peter knows his father would never run. He knows what happens to those who show the Light. Yet, he hurries through the streets to the old inn anyway. He stands in front of the open door and falls to his knees. In his mind's eye he sees his father, head held high, Light shining in his eyes from the depths of his heart. His mother, her hands tied, but still continuing onward with a lovely quiet strength, the Light in her eyes seeming to out shine the sun. He knows their fate. But what could he have done? Nothing. He stands in the doorway as he aught to have done before the police. But He did _nothing_. Emptiness washes over his heart. Tears threaten to spill over as his carefully-schooled countenance becomes twisted with pain and remorse.

He feeds the cat and puts the dishes away. In the parlor he rights the table and picks up the lamp. He carefully trims the wick, as he used to as a little boy, and fills the reservoir. He rummages for matches and lights the lamp. On the floor his father's book lies open. Reverently he picks it up, his eyes fall on the familiar page.

_I am the Way, the Truth_

_and the Light no one comes_

_to the Father except through me._

No more, Peter thinks, there is only one way. I have known it all my life, but never did I have the courage to follow the Light and keep it in my heart.

Once again the crimson sun sets on the gleaming and grand City of Glass and Steel; and once again does the inn shine with an inviting glow. For the keeper of the Light is back and he trims the wicks and lights the lamps. His helper, strong and lovely, goes about her tasks faithfully as she always did. Once more do tired travelers stop at the old inn for rest and food. The Light shines bright, and all is well.


End file.
